Thunder Rolled Across the Sky

Thunder rolled across the sky Like some great beast about to die, Or the ancient god, now bestirred By ancient thoughts and present words. Fall arrived in her attire Of earth, water, wind and fire. But mostly fire, which spoke Of life and death and heat and smoke. As we walked through fallen leaves And passed by wind-tossed trees You talked of God and of Joan of Arc And darkness settled on the park. Of Joan of Arc and her fire, Set upon her funeral pyre, Dying from the fire’s embrace In another time and another space, Was turned to and became ashes, While lightening flashes As from nightmares or from dreams Illuminated disparate scenes. “I do not believe,” you said, “That the past is ever dead.” Going on our separate paths We fled the storm and its wrath.